What A Mess I've Gotten Myself Into
by the last dreamer
Summary: AU. ‘Just great,’ Hermione thought. ‘If I ever get home, I’ll never hear the end of this.’
1. Whisked Away

A/N: Hi everyone. I'm trying my hand at another HP fic. This one's about bandits and princesses. Oh so fun. It's AU, set in somewhere in the desert. 

Disclaimer: I don't own any of them. But I can play with them for a bit.

**What A Mess I've Gotten Myself Into**: chapter 1

     Looking longingly at the high slit in the stone they called a window, Hermione sighed. What did she do to deserve this? Well, other than throw a royal tantrum and flat-out refuse to marry the man her parents had selected for her…That didn't mean they had to lock her in her room in the tower, did it? The only means of escape was that faraway little opening that was well out of her reach. It was times like these that she hated being the only daughter of the king and queen.

     Hermione tied back her bushy hair and drew her veil up about her head. A cape hid her rich clothing and a pair of sturdy slippers adorned her feet. There was no way they would keep her in here for long. She snagged the sheets off the bed, tying them together to form a relatively strong rope. Now all that was left was to get it through the opening. A few misses later, the looped end of the rope caught the inside shutter of the window. After giving it a yank, she started climbing up her bedroom wall. 

     She sat on the wide sill and looked out over the sprawling town. Many ramshackle were crammed very close together, forming twisting alleyways and a million nooks and crannies. The sun was just starting to drop down to the west, making it barely passed midday. Hermione looked down. It was a good fifty-foot drop from where she sat, straight into the trees that bordered their lands and continued to grow right up next the palace. Wanting to escape, not kill herself, she scaled down the wall with help from her bed sheets. The trees would provide cover for a while, and then she could make a break over the wall and into the city. 

     With despair she looked at said wall. There was no way she could just hop over it, not with the guards atop it and not without rope of some sort. She was just about to give up when she noticed a group of harried looking servants dressed similarly to her making their way to the main gate. If she could just slip into their midst just long enough to fool the guards…

     Within moments she was outside the palace wall. None of the guards had questioned them, and after the wooden gate shut she was free. Hermione tried to hide her awe as she looked around her. Looking at the town from above was one thing, but being in it was something completely new to her. Never before had she even attempted to leave the palace walls. Papa was always worried something would happen to her, and Mama would never disagree with him. 

     She wandered the alleys for a bit, finally finding what she figured was the merchants' main street. Vendors were everywhere, selling just about anything she could imagine. One fancy booth, tucked very far into a corner, with velvet rugs and odd wooden boxes caught her eye. The sign above it read "Ollivander's Fine Wands and Magical Items from the West." An older man within caught her eyes and motioned her over. She cautiously approached, fingering her nearly empty money purse. When she had readied to leave, she hadn't planned on stopping to shop. All she had was about 100 Galleons and 70 or so Sickles. 

     "Hello there, milady. Anything catch your fancy?" the man, who she assumed to be Mr. Ollivander, asked with an accent. It sounded British, but she couldn't be sure. Instead of answering directly, Hermione fingered the thin boxes that littered the booth with a gentle touch. The idea of magic had intrigued her greatly ever since she was a child. 

     "Ah, looking for a wand, eh? May I suggest this one? Nine inches, dragon heartstring, mahogany. Well, what are you waiting for?" he asked when she just stood there holding the twig-like wand in her hand. 

     "What am I to do?" she asked, her voice soft.

     "Why, just give it a swish, my dear." She did so and nothing happened. He turned around and snatched another box off the pile. "This one's eleven inches, phoenix feather, pine." Again, when she waved it about, nothing out of the ordinary happened. "This may take a while. You see, a wizard cannot pick his wand. The wand chooses the wizard," he explained as he grabbed yet another package. "Try this one: eight inches, dragon heartstring, white beech." 

     The moment she touched the wand, she knew this one was different. It felt right, like an extension of herself. When she twirled it about, gold and red sparks began to fly out the end. Mr. Ollivander grinned at her and said, "Congratulations, milady. That'll be 37 Galleons and 4 Sickles." 

     Hermione paid him and continued on her way, looking at her wand. She tucked it in her belt, looking around her again. Now she began to notice that many of the vendors' signs read 'magic this' and 'magic that.' There was an apothecary with everything from dried and crushed mushrooms to frog's eyes to preserved newt's tail. One shop displayed more breeds of owls than she had ever known existed. Another booth was stacked high on all sides with books, thick and thin, with titles like Magical Me and Magical Beasts and Where to Find Them. 

     When she had left the normal shops, she didn't know. Here even the people were dressed differently. Many of them wore weird cloak-like garments of bright colors, and there were some with floppy hats and feathers. It was like she had strolled into a whole new world. Hermione couldn't say she wanted to go back, but she desperately wished this wasn't a dream. And if it was she didn't want to wake up. This place felt more like home than the palace ever had. 

     Suddenly she was knocked aside as a tall man adorned all in black rushed past her. A hood covered most of his face, and a black cape edged in emerald flared out behind him as he strode past. But she could see his snake-like features, the red eyes and the stringy black hair. His eyes met her chocolate ones, and then proceeded to sweep the rest of the street. She couldn't help shivering as he brushed against her for that one instant, his aura was that clouded and cold. Shouts and cries came from up the street as a whole group of men in black and green pushed by. 

     Two red haired youths were following them, clad in a white robes. One was pointing a wand, calling for back up to apparently no one. But then several people just popped into being right in front of her, hitting the ground running. Hermione was just about to continue on with her stroll when another man in black came to a stop in front of her. A smirk twisted his face as he suddenly grabbed her arm and began down a side alley. She fought and struggled, but his grip never slackened. When she tried to call out for help, his other hand clamped itself over her mouth and he lifted her up into his arms. Her heart was pounding and all she could hear was her blood rushing in her ears. 

     'This was not what I had in mind when I wanted out of the palace,' she thought angrily. 'Did my father send these people to get me?' her anger mounted with every minute. 

     The man whipped his hand away from the girl's mouth. The little hellcat had bitten him! Blood welled up in his palm, but he ignored it as she glared at him. Her voice was deadly cold and filled with all the authority of a princess when she said, "Put me down this instant. I will not be treated this way! Did my father send you?"

     The man's mouth curled up at the corners. "Don't think so, sweetheart. Now just be a good little girl and be quiet," he sneered. A wave of fear flooded Hermione. If they weren't her father's men, then they had to be…bandits. And she had gotten herself caught by one. 'Just great,' she thought. 'If I ever get home, I'll never hear the end of this.'

     **Tired now. No more till after I get some sleep. You know the drill. Read and review. Please.


	2. Meeting the Serpent

A/N: Hurrah! I'm back after a 6-month hiatus. Now that summer break has come around, I'll have free time to update all my stories. Maybe I'll even have some done by the end of break. Yay!

Disclaimer: I. Own. None…Zip…Zilch…Nada. Clear? Good.

"Unhand me, you ruffian! I demand that you let me go this instant!" Hermione cried, futilely attempting to kick him in the chest with her feet as he launched her over his shoulder like a sack of grain.

"Merlin, you're loud and annoying, Love. I told you to shut your trap and come quietly. We'll let you go when we're good and ready, got it?" the said ruffian snapped, his patience quickly wearing thin with this little brat.

"How dare you address me so informally! I'm not your sweetheart, nor am I your love, so stop calling me as such! And again I ask that you put me down and let me return home. I shudder to say this, but will you _please_ release me?"

Conversation had followed in this manner for the last two hours or so, judging by the sliver of the sun left above the faraway horizon. The pair had long ago left the rows of vendor booths, both 'magical' and normal; indeed, they had even passed out of the gate edging the land her father reigned. Sand stretched out in all directions around them, most of it still smoking hot from being under the beating sun all day. They passed through areas of shade created from sand dunes easily four and five times her height. It was much colder there, and for brief periods of time Hermione shivered and clung to her cape like it could provide any warmth. And now that the day was passing into night, that chill would be encroaching permanently very soon.

Were they actually going anywhere? Was he just taking her out into the desert to leave her there? Or did he know whom she was, and was taking her away to his lair to rape and torture her until he wanted her father's ransom? She couldn't read his features, his emotions closed off completely and his aura empty and cold. This man was impossible to reason with…why, oh why hadn't she listened to her father's warnings about bandits and ruffians? Every physical attempt she made at escaping had been successfully thwarted and every word she said had been ignored. She was getting tired of even trying. What harm could there be in letting him take her to a place where it would no doubt be warm and safe from everything that lurked in the desert?

'Famous final words,' she thought resignedly an hour later. She sat, tied hand and foot, in the corner of a stone chamber carved deep into a cave underground. Men dressed in the same black garb as her captor, more than she could count, milled about quietly, as if waiting for something. She had been set here, a few meters away from a huge, elaborate throne similar to her father's, while the man who grabbed her mingled with his friends.

'This must be what a coven is like,' she thought. Hermione had only heard stories of magic and wizards and their spells and covens. Never before had she dreamt of meeting a wizard let alone being caught and held hostage by one. Where the fantastic tales had always made out their spell-casters to be good, honest and helpful people, she was beginning to understand that that was not true. These people could not be good, dressed in black from head to toe as they were with scowls that seemed to be their favorite expression. Maybe magic was as evil as her mother always told her it was.

Suddenly everything stopped, everyone became still as a man moved to sit on the throne. Dressed just like the others, she wondered how they could tell him apart, since he seemed to be the leader of this band of outlaws. The man flipped back his hood, and she suppressed a gasp as she recognized the man from the market, the one with the red eyes and serpentine features. He clasped his hands together behind his back, standing very straight and holding himself with all the regal bearing of a noble.

"Good evening, my fellow Dark wizards. I'm glad to see everyone in attendance. After someone alerted those pesky Aurors, I almost feared that some of the slower of our group," here he looked pointedly at a small, shivering figure towards the left in the rear of the room, "would not make it tonight. But then I realized, you are all my students, and if one of you should have been caught, it would have reflected worse on me. And you all know how I feel about being placed in a bad light." His glare touched all the figures in the room, scrutinizing every one slowly and particularly before moving on to the next. Once he finished his perusal, he began to speak again.

"On a more pleasurable note, one of you remembered to catch a little entertainment for us tonight. Severus swiped us a pretty little street mouse. So not only to we have riches to spend and sell, we have a tiny young muggle girl to enjoy. First we shall feast, however. We'll need energy for this one, I can tell!" The man's comments were received with a chorus of hearty laughs, which scared her a bit. Surely…surely they would do what he insinuated that they would? Hermione was shocked at being referred to a "street mouse." She was of much better blood than that! She had just steeled her backbone, ready to interrupt and demand once more to be let free, when the red-eyed man turned to look directly at her. His eyes locked to hers, and she found she could not free them from his electric gaze. The words died in her throat and she shrunk until she once again felt the strong comfort of the rock at her back.

And then, right before Hermione's eyes, his appearance began to change. His lanky, greasy black hair became a beautifully cared-for mess of wavy dark brown locks. Warmth and color came back to his face, and his skin turned the rosy shade of living flesh. The scaly, dry skin smoothed over to a faultless mask. His nose rose and rounded, ending up as aristocratic as her own. But his eyes…they went from the crimson color of freshly spilled blood to a golden honey brown. A glint shone in his eyes for a mere second before he squashed it down, and all she saw was the cold, dead, amber eyes looking straight into her very soul. He was a handsome young man who appeared to be no older than Hermione, but that could not be right.

"Welcome to the den of the Death Eaters, Love. Hope you said your goodbyes to your loved ones this morning, I'm afraid you won't be seeing them ever again. But come, drink of the wine and eat of the food we have. Try to enjoy your last few hours. Well, you heard me, my fellows, go, go! She'll still be here when you finish!" Hermione saw the flash of ire in the one called Severus' eyes, her captor's eyes, before he too turned away to the large table set up along the far wall.

Hermione didn't know that the anger ran much deeper than anything else Severus had felt for most of his life. The thought of sharing his little street mouse with these pathetic, worthless worms turned his stomach. He didn't understand why it was happening, so he tried his hardest to squelch the urge to keep her for himself. What was it about this little wench? She was lower than shit, a smart-mouthed little muggle born to dirt-poor muggle parents. But something about her irritated the back of his mind, something he felt he should recognize.

His eyes were glaring blindly as he bit savagely into a rich leg of pheasant and drank deeply of his cognac. He devoured his meal quickly at sat staring at a spot over his leader's shoulder. The man he owed his life to, the man he looked up to as a child…the man who beat him, the man he could no longer find it in his heart to support, the man who treated him only slightly better than a slave, the man he was supposed to follow blindly, like all these other fools around him. He tried in vain to convince himself of why he must stay, other than the immediate, inescapable physical ties. Lately it was like he had come into a sudden perception of where his life had taken a sharp turn into the depths of hell.

Quickly, Voldemort's eyes snapped to his own. Damnation! He had slipped up. He knew his master could read minds, all the Death Eaters suspected it, but he knew. He knew! And yet, he had let his thoughts wander down a lane that he would surely pay for later. His mask was supposed to be solid and unbreakable. But he had allowed a crack to form by which Voldemort could creep in and observe his every thought.

Fuck this all to hell! Luckily he had been the only one to remember entertainment, otherwise he might very well be a very dead bandit in the morning. What the hell was wrong with him…what would Voldemort try and torture him with? How deep of a mess had his stupid instincts gotten him into?

A/N END NOTE: This is all for now. Expect more later. Hope you all like it. Let me know, k? That means: not only do you read the story, but you also leave a review with it. Flames and constructive criticism are welcome, so you can leave more than a few words in that big, huge, empty box. Please?


	3. Not If I Can Help It

A/N: Well, it's been awhile, but I'm slowly getting back into things.

Disclaimer: I don't think they will ever be mine, soI won't pretend they are.

**What A Mess I've Gotten Myself Into**: chapter 3

Hermione knew better than to touch anything set in front of her. There was no telling what they could have put in it. Chicken was rare in this part of the world, so she knew these were wealthy men as one laid a platter in front of her, heaped high with white meat. A few more common vegetables also decorated the plate, and the wine in her goblet looked rich and inviting. But her stomach was rebelling against the very idea of food.

So she sat and quietly observed the happenings around her. She heard one man begin to spin a bawdy tale, while several others were telling crude jokes. They must all be men, she realized, neither seeing nor hearing anything remotely feminine. It was a loud, rowdy bunch of men with no manners and no decency. Then again, one cannot expect much of a dirty thieving group of outlaws and bandits.

Hermione shivered with dread as one by one, all of the eyes in the room turned to her. They were finishing filling their stomachs and looking forward to the _entertainment_, as their leader had so delightfully put it. What would she be forced to do? She didn't want to think about it. She closed her eyes, shutting them out, shutting everything out, and forced herself to take a deep breath. It would do no good to panic.

When she opened her eyes, she found handsome golden brown eyes an inch from her own. Despite her best efforts to squash the instinctual reaction, she jumped and flinched back. He swirled the full cup of wine under her nose, letting her smell its soft fruity scent before drawing back.

"Well, well, my dear. Couldn't be interested in a little wine?" he said, his voice soft, melodic almost. But a wicked gleam entered his eyes as the brown color darkened and morphed back to crimson red. "Too bad. It might have made this easier on you," he taunted, running an icy cold finger down the bridge of her nose. A wave of his other hand called a cloaked man forward. Hermione recognized the sharp nose and black eyes of her abductor. "Severus, you brought the girl, so I think I'll let you have the first go at her."

The man called Severus swept a low bow to his leader before coming any closer. She watched as he advanced with a lewd smirk, the leer in his eyes making her tremble. But he stopped before he came near enough to touch her, turning to the other man once more. "My lord, I was not expecting to have to share."

"But you brought her here. Why? To taunt us with a girl who you want to flaunt but not to share? Your master does not enjoy being teased so," Voldemort replied, his face never changing from its calm and kind exterior, but his voice was scathing and Hermione could feel the vibration of restrained power in the air.

However, the man didn't back down. He bowed low again before answering. "I do not mean offense, my lord. But your other loyal subjects have wives and mistresses. I have nothing. I only meant to take this one and use her as a plaything for my own needs."

"Very well, Severus. After all, it is time you were rewarded for your gracious services and sacrifices in my name," he conceded. Severus worked hard to hide his triumph. But before he could collect his bounty and leave, Voldemort caught his arm and wrenched hard. "You may have the girl, but be warned. I am watching you, boy," he spat. "Your impertinence is unacceptable. Crucio!" he shouted, waving a wand very similar to the one hidden in Hermione's belt, and she watched helpless as Severus buckled, his face tightening slightly in pain. At first he held up well, refusing to show outward signs of his distress, but Voldemort drew out his punishment until his legs could not hold him any longer and he dropped to his knees. When the spell was released, he gasped for breath.

The others gathered around murmured softly amongst themselves, some watching in sadistic pleasure as the master's favorite was finally punished, others grimacing in sympathy. Voldemort silenced them with a venomous look and swept out of the room, his cape flaring dramatically behind him. Hermione had the semblance of mind to duck her head before she rolled her eyes. It wouldn't do to incite more anger with this crew.

When she looked up again, the dark figures were disappearing. Simply popping out of existence. It was a little disconcerting, but it was also intriguing. 'I wonder if I could do that?' she thought.

While she was thinking, she didn't notice Severus approach until he reached out and snagged her upper arm in a harsh grip. His long, delicate fingers—a nobleman's fingers—had surprising strength. "Don't even think about escaping, girl," he snarled. "You're very lucky my lord decided to let you live. You're mine now."

She bristled, shoulders tightening and fire glowing in her eyes. "I am no one's but my own. Unhand me." He obeyed her command, only to reach down and yank her to her feet by the chains on her wrists. She dug her heels deeper into the cave floor, but it did no good. She found herself being dragged out of the cave and into his arms. "What is this? Let me go!"

She watched as his eyes closed and he appeared to be concentrating. All of a sudden, it felt like her body was being constricted, being pulled through a very tight place. She couldn't breathe and her eyes clamped shut as the world around her blurred and spun. Then, as quickly as it started, the feeling was gone and she could again draw precious oxygen into her lungs. 'What in all the kingdoms of hell did he do to me?' she thought.

Opening her eyes, she was stunned to find herself not in the sandy desert anymore, but a richly lavished room, much like those in the palace. Gold and tapestries adorned the walls, intricate carvings cut into the large marble and alabaster inlays near the windows and doors. Brightly colored pillows sat in every corner, and a low table took up most of the center of the room. It looked like the room her father kept to meet with foreign dignitaries and hold council.

It was a beautiful room she had to admit. But how had she gotten there? What was that feeling of being forced through a very small space? Turning, she spotted her captor in the corner, merely watching her through his dark bangs.

"You!" she accused. " What have you done? Where are we?"

The man rose from his reclining position against the wall and stalked closer to her, much closer than she was comfortable with. "I have a name, princess. It'd do you good to call me 'Severus' or 'master' from now on."

Hermione scoffed. If she had been watching this scene rather than experiencing it, she would have laughed at the outrageousness of she, the daughter of the king, calling this dark ruffian 'master.' It was a ridiculous suggestion, one that she would never heed. Her pride would never allow it. "Fine. Severus," she spat the name like a vile curse and watched his eyes flicker, "where have you taken me? I wish to be returned to my home at once!" she didn't know why she thought it was going to work this time, when it hadn't so many times before.

A storm raged in his blue eyes, turning them from pale and icy to dark sapphires of malice. He watched, thoroughly satisfied as she backed away from him, terror reading plain on her pretty little face. She hit the sill of the high window behind her, and desperate for a way out, she turned her back on her abductor and gazed out, trying to judge how far she was from the ground.

Just as she recognized the palace, her home, sitting on the horizon, he grasped her chin between his thumb and forefinger in an uncompromising grip and forced her to look him in the eye again. "Don't you ever speak down to me like that again, you little chit. You're no better than the scum beneath my boots. You are in my home and under my command, and you won't be going home. Ever, if I have anything to say about it."

It's short, I know. But I decided I liked ending it there for now. Read and review. Reviews make me a very happy author, and happy authors write faster. Thanks to all the wonderful readers who reviewed the last chapter.


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